


I Am Lost, I Am Vain...

by Dividedpoet



Series: Without You [4]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, F/M, Fluff, Graphic Description, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 22:32:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2524073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dividedpoet/pseuds/Dividedpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t anything earth shattering, the sight of Bruce where he'd laid on the floor with his eyes closed and a smile tilting the corners of his lips. But he looked so happy. It was almost intoxicating.</p><p>“Come on, Doc, can’t sleep on the floor,” she said, holding her hand out to him.</p><p>Bruce cautiously cracked one eye open before he reached up to take Natasha’s hand. “Is this the part where you thank me for my company and tell me to have a good evening?” his tone was half amused and half curious.</p><p>Natasha handed him a damp rag and arched an eyebrow. “If you hog the covers I’m kicking you out.”</p><p>”I make no promises. If I wake up in the hallway I’ll understand.”</p><p>
  <i>AN: To any new readers that want to read something HulkWidow-centered without trudging through a whole series I’ve done my best to make this so it follows well enough without reading the whole thing, and anything that seems confusing should be clarified or explained at some point within this story. Just bear in mind they have an established relationship in this series, but the point of this story is to go back and show you how that happened. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am Lost, I Am Vain...

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This fic as well as its universe still take place at a point in time soon after The Avengers movie and was begun before Agents of SHIELD, Iron Man 3, Thor: The Dark World, and Captain America: The Winter Soldier came out. I know this is really obvious, but I wanted to clarify none of that would change considering a lot has happened in the 'verse since I posted last. Furthermore, I apologize for how long it has been. Natasha and Bruce are two characters I have a hard time understanding and it took me a while to feel as if I did them justice. Also RL got in the way.
> 
> But here is the next installment of Without You. Unbeta'd (I'd be ecstatic to re-post a beta'd version if anyone is interested) and hopefully still enjoyed. Thank you so much for your patience to anyone still around. 
> 
> To any new readers, I’d suggest you read the earlier installments of this series to catch up however I’ve done my best to make it so it follows well enough without, anything that seems confusing should be clarified or explained at some point. Just bear in mind they have an established relationship in the series, but the point of this story is to go back and show you how that happened.
> 
> Oh, and I'd love any feedback or constructive criticism you'd like to provide! Really, it would make my day.

_“We’re heading out to get some food. You guys want us to bring you back anything?”_

_“They already have life-altering, horrible decisions to keep them full.”_

Not her best material, admittedly. But, it made one thing very clear. 

The swoosh of the elevator, followed by the almost imperceptible drag of a sole separating from a shoe, signaled Bruce's arrival well before he spoke. 

”You can’t stay mad at him forever.” 

Natasha and Clint had been on the outs since she'd found out he ended things with Coulson; a decision she felt was childish and irrational to say the least. Well, on the outs was putting it mildly; the fight they had one day during training landed the two special agents on a sort of probation that’s main purpose was to keep them from being around one another unsupervised. 

Natasha’s jaw hardened but she didn't look up from her task. She set one of the now cleaned and sharpened knives in it’s spot among an array on the kitchen counter and picked up another. She’d gone to her apartment for some knife tlc after leaving Clint, Darcy, and Bruce in the common room. 

Natasha stayed quiet, continuing her work diligently. She wouldn't say she was sulking... 

"Your sulking is going to thin those knives out." 

...but Bruce apparently would. 

She tilting her head to side eye him, hand stilling on steel. “Don’t be ridiculous, these knives have put up with much worse. And I'm not sulking, that would be incredibly childish.” 

Bruce arched an eyebrow, “Isn’t this whole situation incredibly childish? Doesn't Clint have a right to make his own decisions on the matter?” 

Natasha’s reply was out before Bruce had closed his lips. “It isn’t when the resulting decisions are stupid fucking decisions.” 

Bruce’s shoulders relaxed and in an instant Natasha was reminded of how much her anger weighed on him. 

“He’ll fix it.” 

“If he doesn’t?” 

“He will.” 

“Hope you’re right.” 

“I am.” 

At this point Bruce had settled next to Natasha on the couch and was waiting before he touched her. He always waited for the same thing. She wasn't entirely sure what but when he finally saw it he slid into her personal space and wrapped his arms around her, lips ghosting along her neck. 

Bruce’s mind worked as fast as Natasha’s did. It was one on a long list of traits she needed to remind herself of frequently; Bruce had the ability to sift through choices and reactions, to read people's emotions as they slid across their faces and respond accordingly as well as Natasha could. She was simply more adept at applying that intellect to high risk situations in a rational manner. She reminded herself of this to make sure she didn’t do something that was second nature to her; hide and misdirect. Because he would figure it out, those little lies of omission. Their lives were too intertwined. He would figure it out and she would lose this thing she had finally earned herself. So she had to learn to let her feelings show. Not all of them, not all the time, but she had to be honest with him. That was all he’d asked… 

_**2 Months Before: Helicarrier**_

They’d been together a grand total of a month when Bruce cornered Natasha outside of the hospital wing on the helicarrier. Well, he was standing outside of the exit doors as she left. But considering he wasn’t supposed to know she was there, she thought of it as more of an offensive maneuver rather than a passive one. He didn’t look angry, per se, but his eyes were hard behind his glasses and the relatively thin stack of papers he was holding had her picture on the top page. 

“Tony?” she asked, face a complete mask of calm. 

Bruce shook his head, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes in a way she was noticing with increasing frequency signaled he’d been awake for far too long. “JARVIS pulled the files through whatever hole Tony poked in medical’s system when you were trying to find Coulson. I’m the one that noticed you were full of shit and asked him to do it.” Natasha narrowed her eyes but Bruce held up a hand. "Just give it a rest for a minute;” he sighed, “The guarded, defensive, can't-trust-a-soul-especially-my-lover bullshit. Just be honest with me.” 

Natasha knew the poison, a nasty side effect of an op, was finally out of her system thanks to multiple emergency blood transfusions. Even still, she could not seem to get her mind to move with it’s typical swiftness. Perhaps it was because she had, once again, left medical well before approved. Or perhaps it was because it had been a very long time since somebody had caught her in this kind of lie and she wasn’t entirely sure how to react... 

He still sounded more tired than angry when he spoke and it clenched in Natasha’s chest, “When you called me and said you decided to stop off to see Pepper, of course I believed you.” He swallowed audibly, “Pepper even called that night to corroborate your story; she told us you’d just gotten in and you were taking a shower. You covered all your bases.” 

”What tipped you off?” While those weren’t the first words she would normally have picked to say in this situation, she had to admit even in her haze she was curious. 

Bruce stared at Natasha, eyes burning into hers, before he spoke, “You told me it would be nice to see the house again, but when Pepper called she was in D.C.” He continued on quickly, “At first I wrote it off, I thought you must have misspoke. It took me two days of not hearing a word from you to finally decide there was something _to_ that uncomfortable feeling I couldn’t shake.” Toward the end his voice began to rise. “You know what my first thought was when I saw the date of your admission? Before I read anything else, I thought, ‘She _must_ be dying. Natasha wouldn’t mess up like this unless she was dying.’” 

She took longer to process his emotional cues than she normally would have, but when she did it became very easy to hear the fear in his voice. He wasn’t trying to hide it from her. However, when that fear registered across his face Natasha realized with a startling certainty that the world had tilted on its axis. Bruce’s hands under her arms were what kept her from hitting the floor. “Just a vasovagal response,” he said it out loud but he wasn't talking to her. He slid an arm around her back and Natasha willingly leaned into his body. 

He walked her to her quarters, watched her settle in bed, both parties accepting the clear indication that she needed a moment. 

When she woke up a few hours later he was sitting on top of a S.H.I.E.L.D. issue dresser, elbows resting on his knees. She sat up and he took a deep breath. “Do you understand why I’m...upset?” Natasha said nothing, eyes focused lazily on the set of his jaw and stiffness of his shoulders. “Does it seem like a fair reaction?” 

Natasha stayed silent, mind soft but from sleep this time. She wanted to feed him some story about keeping it a secret in order to avoid upsetting him, that she didn't want him to worry. They both knew that was ridiculous and wasn’t this the beginnings of an argument about her lying to him? 

As it turned out, Bruce wasn’t in any kind of arguing mood. 

“I don’t want to do this again,” he began, bringing his eyes up to meet hers. They were soft, sincere. “Come in with the airs that I’m going to reprimand you. You’re not a child, Natasha. And everything I’ve said to you is true. But,” he paused, an involuntary gulp. “I don’t have any interest in angst. I’m afraid I don’t have the temper for it.” He quirked a self-deprecating smile and Natasha tilted her head, curious. “You have to be honest with me or this doesn’t happen. I don’t have the extra mental energy necessary to question everything you say and I’d really rather not learn to work around that.” He straightened on his perch and shrugged, face resigned. “You have to be honest with me or this doesn’t happen,” he repeated. He hopped down and stepped quickly over to Natasha’s bedside. With a kiss to her forehead he left the room. 

The next day a badge was delivered to Bruce’s lab in Stark Tower. He had clearance for Natasha’s future medical records as well as those dating back to the battle for Manhattan. 

**_Present: The Tower_ **

Natasha was pulled out of her reverie when teeth scraped along the thin skin of her neck. A shiver ran down her spine and Bruce tightened his arms around her. “We could order in?” he suggested nuzzling the skin behind her ear before pulling her into his lap, already half-hard cock pushing against the curve of her ass. Want tugged low in Natasha’s belly and she swiveled her upper body, arm hooking around the back of his neck as she bent to his lips. 

”Turns out, not that hungry,” she breathed. 

Bruce had this knack, this beautiful skill; he could have her turned on and practically keening in seconds. Well, perhaps it was less about Bruce and more about her desire for him. Either way, it had been like that since the beginning. Even if it had shown itself a little differently back then. 

Natasha could remember when she decided Bruce was somebody that could help her forget. Back before they’d found Coulson, when Clint had been damn near inconsolable after his death. She just wished she’d understood it then. 

**_4 Months Before: Bruce’s Lab_ **

It was 3 am and Natasha hadn’t slept in 3 days. 

Which was fine, a regular occurrence even. However, the lack of sleep partnered with Clint’s mental state had her more than slightly keyed up. Normally she would request a mission, something to get her out of the tower. But that meant more time away from Clint and it was frightening how nervous that made her. Instead, she took to pacing the most brightly lit floors, knowing she would have at least one companion. 

He never noticed her watching him. 

“Not sleeping much these days, are you?” Bruce jumped when Natasha spoke from the doorway to his lab. “Oh, sorry, Doc, didn’t mean to startle you.” Her combat boots squeaked against the tile now that she let them and every shrill echo seemed to reflect in a stiffening of Bruce’s posture. “Guess I should wear a bell or something…” she trailed off, eyes darting around the workspace. 

Bruce removed his glasses and set them down, other hand coming up to rub some moisture into his tired eyes. “Can I help you with something, Agent?” he asked, his exhaustion obvious. 

“You really could,” Natasha muttered, snatching Bruce’s discarded glasses up before settling herself at his other side. 

Bruce's gazed followed her, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Honestly, I just wanted to check on you,” she said. She looked down at the glasses in her hands, thumb rubbing over the frames. “You’ve been in here a lot more the last couple of weeks.” 

Bruce’s responding snort threw her somewhat and she looked up into his face, “You’ve been the culprit ghosting around the tower in the middle of the night. I should have known.” His lips were quirked and he sounded like someone who could relax now because they’d solved the mystery. 

So much for him not noticing. 

”Wouldn’t say I’ve been ghosting. If you looked up from your notes for more than a few seconds, I promise you would have seen me.” No he wouldn’t have. They both knew that. 

Bruce glanced over at the aforementioned notes and smiled, “Yes, I do have a tendency to get sucked into my work.” He looked back at Natasha, “But I imagine you know exactly how that goes.” 

Natasha shook her head and looked down at the frames once more, the late hour playing with a typically stronger sense of anonymity. “Not these days. These days it’s more, ‘Okay, clip the blue wir-did Clint eat today?’ and then, you know, explosion.” 

In an instant he seemed to lose the mirth he carried just a moment before. ”Natasha…” her name was a sigh on his lips. He cleared his throat. 

”I don’t want to have this argument again, Bruce," she said, quiet but firm. 

There was a seconds pause before Bruce said, “Can you really call it an argument if the person you’re arguing with can’t get angry?” The forced playfulness tried to pull her back. 

She indulged him, appreciative of the effort, “I guess not. How ‘bout we say I’m not in the mood for another lecture on not taking care of myself in favor of other people.” Natasha looked up from the glasses and graced Bruce with a side smile. 

He nodded...but it seemed as if his resolve melted very quickly and before she knew it he was opening his mouth, “I worry about you. You spend your days running S.H.I.E.L.D. tasks and your nights taking care of a man that can barely see you.” 

”He sees me.” The words were out before she knew they were on her lips but she moved forward anyway. “And it wouldn’t really matter if he didn’t. That’s not--” 

”I know, Natasha, I know you’re just trying to take care of him…” He shook his head. 

She didn’t want to have this conversation again, this conversation that always ended the same way; with her pissed off and him eerily calm but neither of them getting anywhere. It was so frustrating. Instead she moved on instinct. 

When she stepped fully into Bruce’s space he knocked his hip into the work table, hand coming down to brace himself on the surface and eyes widening slightly. Natasha smirked at the reaction, “So much for eerily calm,” she said. 

Bruce closed his eyes for a second and when he opened them again it seemed he’d regained his spiked composure, a composure that had nothing to do with Hulking out but everything to do with her proximity. His voice was remarkably soft as his pointer finger and thumb closed on the metal frames in her hand. “I just worry about you, worry that you don’t let anyone else see--” 

Natasha let him take the glasses but before he could finish his sentence she’d set her now free hand on the exposed skin of his wrist. Bruce froze completely. “I let you see,” she breathed. "Isn't that something?" She stroked a finger over his pulse point and felt it jump, “Careful, Doc, your pulse is picking up.” 

When he spoke there were slight tremors in his voice, the telltale indicator of when she’d gotten under somebody’s skin. “It _is_ very late, Agent. I think I’m going to start shutting things down in here. You should probably get some sleep yourself.” 

It was a little bothersome that he didn’t even give her the chance to make a move but what she found more concerning was the way he looked at her; with a mixture of pity and guilt. 

The thought had a copper taste blooming in her mouth. “Of course,” she said, backing away from him. 

A hand landed on her arm and she fought her instinct to try and break it. “I’m not a good place to find comfort.” 

For just a moment it was silent and Natasha could hear Bruce’s heart pounding. She pulled her arm away and watched his hand fall, then looked at him with that same practiced smile. “Have a good night, Doc.” The last few words were edging on rushed and she was out of the lab. 

The next time Natasha saw Bruce she was preparing to break into medical on the Helicarrier in an attempt to find out where Coulson (or at least his body) was located. Tony had detained her in the tower common room and was briefing her on a few last details…so basically all of the important stuff. It seemed that he’d brought Bruce along as a last minute wet blanket. 

“If I mapped this out correctly, which I always do, based on Barton’s level of skill, height, weight, blah blah blah it shouldn’t take him more than 176 seconds to reach the box,” Tony said, eyes fixed on his Starkpad. 

Natasha arched an eyebrow. “And if it takes him longer?” 

“Well, the override that gives him 10 minutes to get out of the vents only takes effect if he _actually_ attaches the strip.” He glanced up from his pad, patented ‘do the math’ look on his face. 

“Let me get this straight; you’re saying if he doesn’t find the box less than 3 minutes after the vent is exposed to the ships recycled air, he’ll be gassed?” Bruce questioned before Natasha had a chance. 

“Yup.” 

Natasha sighed. “Told him?” 

“Nope.” 

“Good.” 

“What’s the plan?” Bruce asked, looking between Tony and Natasha. 

“As far as anyone is concerned, we’re meeting on the Helicarrier to test some new tech I’ve designed for Our Lady of Catatonic Moping.” Tony began, distracted again. “I’ve gotten him temporary clearance onto the ship. He’ll come in with Natasha, slip away, get the strip in place, and meet us back on the bridge. From there, well, I guess we’ll see.” 

“Is there anything I could help with?” 

“I’m afraid we’re all full up on mad scientists and the emotionally deranged, but we do appreciate your offer,” Natasha said, sliding a gun into her holster pointedly. 

She risked a glance over at Bruce and could see that his eyebrows were furrowed. The furrow smoothed in milliseconds. When he did speak it was with that practiced patience she found both soothing and infuriating. “I wouldn’t want to be in the way, Agent. But if either of my services _does_ become necessary, I’ll be happy to help.” 

Tony looked quickly back and forth between the two before looking down at his watch. “As much as I’d like to delve into whatever—“ he motioned between them. “ _That_ was about, we’re on a schedule here, people.” 

Walking toward the elevator Natasha watched Bruce out of the corner of her eye. She held him in her line of sight until the elevator doors closed. 

Later that night, well after they found Coulson, Natasha had her bag almost completely packed when Jarvis spoke. 

“Agent Romanov, it seems you have a visitor.” 

It was on the way to drop Clint off at his apartment about an hour prior that Natasha had decided she needed to take care of a few things. Now the idea that someone was going to get in the way of her very shifty plan made her sigh. 

“Any clue what I’m about to open up to?” she asked, exhaustion seeping out in a way it hadn't before the Helicarrier excursion. 

“I’m afraid it’s hard to tell, I have a great deal of difficulty reading Dr. Banner. But I would imagine, if he is troubling you at this time of night, it must be very important.” 

Natasha closed her eyes, trying to decide if this was something she felt like dealing with. Before she let herself run through all of the reasons why it would be better to grab her bag and climb into the ventilation system, she walked toward the elevator. Once she was standing in front of the doors, arms crossed like a human wall, she glanced upward. 

“Let him in.” 

When the elevator doors opened part of Natasha expected to see a reserved Bruce with imploring eyes. Another part of her expected to see an angry and offended Bruce. What she was met with instead was a Bruce that crowded into her space with deliberate steps and put sure fingers on her jaw. “Tell me to stop.” It wasn’t a demand, it wasn’t a taunt, it was simply _’Tell me to stop and I will’_ He did not, however, slow in his assault. It didn’t matter, as soon as she felt his breath on her lips Natasha knew that not an ounce of her intended to stop him. His actions had been swift and typically swift actions had Natasha clawing for higher ground. But there was a hunger in his voice, something needy and wanting. It rocked through her body, appealing to her on a level she hadn’t felt familiar with in quite some time. 

She barely registered the whoosh of the elevator doors closing as Bruce slid his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck. She unfolded her arms from their severe position, pulling their chests flush. Bruce tightening his fingers in her hair and he deepened the kiss. He began moving her backwards and in moments Natasha was firmly pressed against the wall in the hallway and Bruce was running the hand not tangled in her hair down her body. Natasha flipped their positions with ease, pressing Bruce back against the wall as he’d done. When he changed their positions again Natasha assumed this would be their dance until, with a confidence that sent a shiver through her, Bruce disengaged his hands from their positions and reached down to grab the backs of her thighs. Needing no further prompting Natasha shifted her arms around Bruce’s neck and hopped up, wrapping legs around sturdy hips, deceptively strong arms and the wall bracing her in place. 

Bruce moved his lips to the junction of Natasha’s neck and shoulder. The skin there was sensitive and she felt the word before she actually heard it, “Bedroom.” 

At the utterance Natasha pulled back, Bruce feeling her reaction even in his aroused haze. Without hesitation he looked up into her searching eyes. “Should I be worried?” she asked, no pretense. 

A breathy laugh slipped out and Bruce dropped his forehead against Natasha's clavicle, hands still firmly on the backs of her thighs. “Sorry,” he looked up at her through the sheepish yet amused crinkle of his brow. At her skeptical look he began speaking quickly. "No, it's just..." he paused and cleared his throat. “No.” 

Natasha pressed her lips back against Bruce’s before she had a chance to over think his answer. He let her legs down one at a time…but not without a good, slow rock against her center, one of her legs still hiked up high on his hip. 

In their haste the two didn’t exactly make it to the bedroom. Not because they were suddenly overcome with heady desire and couldn’t make it 5 feet. No, because somewhere in their hurry to get down the hall an uncoordinated Bruce tripped on the runner. For a moment he was dazed, trying to process why his ass and wrists hurt. Then Natasha was in his lap; distracting him by pulling herself as tightly against his body as possible in their positions. 

It didn’t take Bruce any time to catch on. He'd roughly grabbed Natasha’s hips before she had time to settle. She shuddered at the contact and clawed at his clothing. Pulling his shirt off Bruce returned his hands to her waist, fingers pushing under the material of her own shirt easily. Natasha ground herself down onto his erection and Bruce's grip tightened before he started sliding his palms across her skin. 

"Need," he said, tone rough with desire. His hands moved down her back and past the waistband of her yoga pants so he could palm at her ass. Coming up, Bruce hooked the fingers of one hand into said waistband and pressed the other against her lower back. "These have to come off." 

They maneuvered the material as far down her hips as they could without parting but eventually Natasha had to roll to the side and kick the pants off. While she was kneeling next to Bruce she tugged off her shirt as well to expose her bare breasts and he whimpered, body dropping down and head thumping back against the floor. 

"Right, okay," He was a sight, hair disheveled, eyes closed, shirtless, belt buckle undone. "If this is some clever ploy S.H.I.E.L.D. has devised to test my calm..." When he opened his eyes the returned hardness in Natasha's had him winking. "Bad joke. Besides, even he wouldn't want to ruin this for me." And his hands were reaching out for her skin, intent on clouding a mind that didn't cloud easily. 

After discarding his slacks and briefs Natasha re-straddled Bruce but he seemed to have other ideas. When she threw her leg over his hips he motioned for her to move up. Natasha raised an eyebrow at the request but crawled up his body anyway, responding strongly to the hunger in his eyes. He kept urging her to move up with eager hands until she was seated high on his chest with her thighs on either side of his ears. Hands gripped her hips again and he pulled her toward his lips. 

As Bruce licked into Natasha her mouth dropped open and she searched for purchase; this seemed to be yet another thing she could add to the list of things he does well. He knew right when to alternate; when to make large flat licks across her folds and when to suck her clit between his lips. After just a few moments of his ministration Natasha could feel arousal starting to coil in her stomach. When she unintentionally canted her hips forward Bruce dropped his head back to the carpet with a throaty moan and looked up into her equally hungry eyes. Feeling pressure on the back of her thighs Natasha leaned her body up and forward. Bruce slid out from underneath her, sat up, and spun around to wrap his arms around her waist; pulling her back against his chest. 

“Bruce…” The word was barely out when he retreated backwards, taking his warmth away from her. She was confused until she turned and found that he was retrieving his pants. He extracted a foil wrapper from one of the pockets and began speaking quickly. 

"To be clear, I don't keep condoms on me at all times." He spun to face her, eyes still on the packet as he ripped it open and took the latex out. "I was ho--um, this evening I was hopeful you would," he paused for a moment before continuing, "reciprocate my intentions." As delicately as the words came across Bruce left no room for error when it came to what he wanted as he rolled the condom on and slid back to prop himself against the wall, cock still very much at attention and eyes still beautifully clouded. 

Natasha crawled towards him, all sexy curves and smooth expanses of pale skin. Bruce groaned low in his throat. 

When Natasha finally slid down onto him, Bruce made a concerted effort to roll his eyes back into his head. “Jesus Christ,” he hissed, hands on her hips as calloused fingers pressed into soft and supple flesh. They found a quick rhythm, Natasha alternating between rolling her hips and moving up and down, Bruce thrusting up to meet Natasha’s downward motions. Her hands were braced on his shoulders and in no time one of his rough hands was settling against her lower back, a warm weight pushing her hips closer to his. When Natasha came some minutes later, a response to Bruce's other hand slipping between them, it caused her entire body to vibrate, head falling against Bruce's shoulder. Bruce's fingers on her back grounded her as she came, his meeting thrusts slowing but continuing shallowly. When one of his arms snaked around her waist and their bodies began shifting Natasha's grip tightened on his shoulders and thighs tightened on either side of his hips. It was a testament to her orgasm that her first instinct wasn't to fight him. 

Natasha came back to attention entirely when he flipped their positions and her back hit carpet. Bruce's eyes had darkened significantly and she listened to the driving need to wrap her legs around his hips. She locked her feet together at the base of his spine and used the leverage to reseat him fully inside of her. Natasha began rocking her hips up, watching Bruce's face as she clearly looked for something. 

Bruce huffed out a laugh. "You think I'm that easy?" he bit out, rocking his hips down into hers. 

"I wouldn't venture to guess how much -- oh -- how much control you could spare," she said with a smirk, eyes fluttering as he canted his hips down just so. Soon he was leaning on one elbow, their chests held flush as their hips separated and came back together with increasing force. In almost no time Bruce was fucking Natasha down into the floorboards, her mouth dropping open in a noiseless sigh and nails dragging up his back. It was good, but it wasn’t enough. 

With a frustrated grunt Natasha used some impressive thigh strength and hip maneuvering to flip them back over so that she might ride Bruce. With Natasha over him Bruce slid his hands up her thighs, one stopping midway while one continued up between her legs to thumb at her clit. Natasha shuddered before she ground down on him. Between that and Bruce's busy thumb Natasha could feel that delicious comfortable coil building in the base of her spine that came with multiple orgasms. Bruce's thumb shifted, pressing against the side of her clit. Natasha came with a long, uninhibited moan. 

Bracing one hand against the floor and moving the other to her side, Bruce leveraged himself up. The hand on her side slid to the small of her back again and he pulled her body tight against him, hips still rocking up to meet hers. She'd barely come down from the last one but the new angle and the way Bruce's body was moving against her still sensitive nub had another building in moments. Natasha dug her knees into the runner as she rode out her 3rd orgasm, noting now how Bruce was clenching his jaw. On a whim she slid a hand into his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his throat before she bit at the place where his neck met his shoulder. He groaned, roughly grabbing one of her hips with his free hand. Natasha smirked as she straightened up and dropped her own head back. When she felt teeth scrape her collarbone her eyes flew open. 

"Fuck Bruce," she hissed, her body already responding to their joined movements. He was starting to break between her thighs though. For a moment she couldn't tell if it was from the effort he'd exerted or a building orgasm. When she looked back at his face she could see it was the latter. That thought sent spikes of pleasure through her. 

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut, thrusts absolutely falling apart now. Natasha's hand slid back into his hair and her hips picked up their pace on his cock. 

When Natasha started shaking again the smile that spread across Bruce's lips, while only lasting a moment, could easily be described as wicked. Then he came apart underneath her and his pleased grunt partnered with the digit he brought back to her clit tipped her over the edge once more. 

Natasha took a few seconds to breath, forehead dropping against his shoulder, before she pulled herself off and stood. Bruce made a face when she pulled off and slumped back against the floor. 

She went to the bathroom to clean up, leaving Bruce in the hall while he removed and tied off the condom. What she saw when she returned made it difficult for Natasha to hide a fond smile. She managed, of course. 

It wasn’t anything earth shattering, the sight of Bruce where he'd laid on the floor with his eyes closed and a smile tilting the corners of his lips. But he looked so happy. It was almost intoxicating. 

“Come on, Doc, can’t sleep on the floor,” she said, holding her hand out to him. 

Bruce cautiously cracked one eye open before he reached up to take Natasha’s hand. “Is this the part where you thank me for my company and tell me to have a good evening?” his tone was half amused and half curious. 

Natasha handed him a damp rag and arched an eyebrow. “If you hog the covers I’m kicking you out.” 

”I make no promises. If I wake up in the hallway I’ll understand.” 

That night Natasha slept wrapped around a human being that was not Clint and she slept better than she had in a month. And like any good, emotionally damaged ex-Russian spy, in the morning she promptly grabbed her already packed bag and fled. 

**_Present: The Tower_ **

It was a sweet memory in its own right. But that was about it. What came after was weeks of uncertainty, of angst and mystery for which Bruce would later remind her he didn’t have the patience. But that was okay, because he was hers now and he was skimming a hand up her side while the other stealthily dipped between her legs. 

\--- 

“Romanov, a word.” 

Natasha stopped mid-step; Director Fury had spoken to her from a doorway she was passing. She hadn’t thought for a moment the Director would be there, it was essentially just an office building in Brooklyn that housed some S.H.I.E.L.D. paper pushers on its top floors. She'd only stopped by to drop off a few forms that needed attention. Even if she had expected him to be there, she was weary of his reaching out to her…especially considering their last interaction, well over 3 months before and the morning after they’d discovered Coulson wasn’t dead. 

**_4 Months Before: Director Fury’s Office_ **

“If you’re planning to kill me, Agent, I’d take it as a kindness if you’d face me.” 

“What makes you think I’m planning to kill you?” 

“The Rugger next to my good eye kind of tipped me off.” 

It hadn't been particularly difficult to slip into Fury's office at 5 that morning. Even the overly enthusiastic fresh transfers didn't get there till 6 and she was a field agent with erratic hours. The security guard didn't bat an eyelash at her hurried entrance. 

Natasha arched an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t say you’re in any position to be making requests, Director.” 

“And you’re in no position to be making threats,” Fury said, rolling his eye. “You broke into a secure government medical facility. The only reason you haven’t been clubbed and dragged off by the council is because I buried the footage. You kill me, they search, the Avengers reforms sans two assassins, and Coulson’s left alone.” 

Natasha didn’t falter. “You pull something like this again, you fuck with my family, and it really won’t matter.” With that she flipped the gun in her hand and smashed Fury in the temple. 

_Present: S.H.I.E.L.D. floor_

Natasha disappeared for a while after that but it hadn’t mattered. The Director never pursued punishment. She was sure he had his reasons but she always remained prepared for the fallout. 

“Of course, Director.” 

The room Natasha followed him into wasn’t an office as she’d originally assumed. It housed a bank of computer monitors, each one flipping to different rooms on different floors of the building systematically. From what she could tell the majority of the floors in the complex were rented out by accounting firms; fragile overworked men clicking away at calculators swathed in overhead fluorescent lighting that gave their skin a washed out yellow tint. Fury wasn’t paying any attention to them. 

”Do you feel like telling me why you just dropped off a reassignment request?” He looked exasperated; you'd think she’d been shouting her request from the rooftops and security had escorted her in. 

Natasha slowly crossed her arms over her chest and arched an eyebrow at the Director. “Mole file clerk?” 

”She’s not a mole if you run the goddamn department.” The words were sharp but his tone remained dry. “Agent.” 

Natasha resisted a sigh, eyes flicking around to the various monitors. “I don’t feel that this team will remain productive as it stands. It’s too heavy with conflicts of interest and...” this time Natasha did sigh, “Emotional baggage.” Her tone carried its usual dryness, each word said as if she were annoyed with having to speak them. 

”I assume you’re referring to the previous turbulence between Agent Barton and Agent Coulson.” 

”It’s getting in the way of the missions.” 

”They’ve seemed pretty damn professional to me.” Fury cleared his throat, “In public.” 

”Absolutely, until someone gets shoved in a broom closet. Meanwhile, Coulson’s passed every assignment from handler to handler for months. I’m sick and tired of wondering if there’s really a third in my corner. It’s all too unreliable.” 

Fury furrowed his remaining eyebrow as he quickly thought over her words. He dropped down into the chair that Natasha assumed was for the security guard typically stationed in this room. “You were asking to transfer Coulson, not Barton.” 

Natasha shifted back on her heels, as if away from a physical force, before settling onto a solid foot. “I know you’ve read the reports, Director, so you must know Agent Barton and myself could be screaming at each other in the streets, coming to physical blows at every turn, but as soon as that mission begins he is my home and I will do everything to protect that. I have no doubt Agent Coulson feels the same way, which is why he is refusing to take point as our handler. However, we need something permanent,” she paused before adding, “I know you won’t let Phil request a team transfer, but I can request a new handler.” 

Director Fury considered Natasha for a moment. It was still startling to see this women, the way she carried herself now, with the backdrop of what he never let himself forget. She had formed attachments in the department, found people she cared about deeply. “Dr. Banner is doing surprisingly well these days.” 

Despite the sudden change in topic Natasha's reaction was swift and flawless. "I think he finds his time in the tower soothing. It’s been a very long while since he was immersed in the world." 

Director Fury arched his eyebrow now, "Right. The world. That's what he's immersed in." 

"Excuse me?" The words were intended to be laced with feigned confusion, instead they came across as mildly amused 

Director Fury waved her away, "I'll take your request under consideration. Dismissed Agent Romanov." 

Natasha watched him for a moment before turning on her heel to leave. 

This wasn't the first time someone had brought up her effect on Bruce, though it was the first time someone had even bothered to be vague about it. Clint was significantly less tactful. Though, he had his reasons. 

**_3 1/2 Months Ago: A Cabin in the Mountains_ **

“I think you could have made it to the hallway before I woke up if you hadn’t scraped the lock.” 

Natasha disappeared for 17 days after they found out Phil was alive, 17 days after her night with Bruce, and 16 days after her little visit to Fury. She would wager if you asked the majority of the Avengers where she’d gone they’d assume she’d been sent out on a mission. Clint however, whose hands had gone up in the air as soon as he’d heard the cock of the gun behind him, always knew the truth. 

“You do have more nimble lock picking fingers.” Not a full moment after the words were out of his mouth the kitchen was being flooded with light. “Jesus Christ, Tash! I’ve been hiking around in the dark for hours!” he yelled, spinning. His proclamations of overexposure were immediately disproven when he skipped around a chair in the small kitchen space then spun it with his foot. 

“That sounds like a personal problem, Barton,” Natasha snapped, crossing her bare arms over her chest, gun sliding cold against the underside of one arm. 

Clint ignored her obvious annoyance, straddling the chair and draping his arms over the back. "I wasn’t completely positive you still had this place, to be honest. I got a little nervous when I still hadn’t found it after 6 hours,” he said, dramatically alternating between opening and closing one eye at a time. 

“Shouldn’t you be back in New York trying to re-memorize the feel of Coulson’s body or some other ridiculously asinine bullshit?” Natasha asked with an arched eyebrow. 

Clint shifted back onto two legs with a practiced ease, but she could see the stiffness he was trying to hide. It didn’t translate into his voice. "I'm supposed to be doing a lot of things back in New York but someone seems to be missing you a grand fuck ton.” At Natasha’s furrowed eyebrows Clint smirked. “If Tony asks where you are one more time...” he trailed off. 

Natasha sighed and set her gun down on the table, going for a hanging cabinet and pulling out a box of Earl Grey. “Isn't Steve keeping him occupied yet? At this rate we're all gonna lose the po—“ 

“What’s going on with you and Bruce?” he asked suddenly. 

The words came out before Natasha could finish speaking but she took them in stride. “Absolutely nothing you need worry about.” 

Clint shook his head, “Bullshit, Nat. What did you do?" The note of forced playfulness in Clint's voice had Natasha’s spine straightening. 

“This isn’t like you. Getting off of your ass to check up on work gossip?” The words were prodding, full of weight Clint could read through clearly. 

The playfulness dropped immediately, “Tony showed me footage.” 

” _Yebat._ ” Natasha hissed, the curse thick on her tongue. 

“Not gonna lie, that shit was intense." 

“What, is Jarvis screening porn now?” 

“You’re playing with fire, Tash. This is a stupid mov—“ 

“Stop,” she snapped, eyes darting around the cabin. “Clint. He’s--“ 

“Mayhem in doc shaped packaging. I get that can be exciting--" 

She shook her head. “That’s not it.” 

“Than what?” 

"He's not a fucking child and neither am I," she snapped. 

Clint seemed to honestly consider her words before he rolled his eyes. “Point me in the direction of a shower." \--- 

The sun was coming up over the mountains when Clint walked out onto the patio. It was a lovely view, the expanse of trees and snow out in front of them. The porch reflected the size of the cabin itself, only large enough for two deck chairs and a small table between while still leaving a pathway to the door. He was rubbing a towel through his hair and smiled when he saw the two steaming cups of coffee sitting on the table. He took a seat in the empty chair before he picked up the mug and began gulping it down heedless of the temperature. Natasha flicked her eyes up, an effortless roll. 

After a few minutes of silence Clint took a breath, held it, and then began speaking. “I didn’t actually plan on coming up here to give you a hard time about…whatever happened with you and Bruce.” He paused but Natasha didn’t speak. Wholly unsurprising. “We knew you hadn’t gone on a mission; Phil and I. This was the only property I thought might still be in your name.” He paused, rolling his eyes. "I'd already decided to leave when Tony ambushed me in the tower with the footage, wanting to know what my sociopath had done to his scientist." 

Natasha snorted. 

The clink of Clint’s cup on the table made her look back over at him. “I didn’t see you guys doing the nasty,” he arched an eyebrow, “Though you filled that in for me.” 

She shrugged. 

“All he showed me was you sitting on the bed in the morning, watching him sleep.” 

“Maybe I’m just that creepy,” she said dryly, own eyebrow arching. 

Clint shook his head. “That’s what a lot of people might think,” he leaned toward her over the table. “But I know better.” He chuckled and looked away from Natasha. “Just like a lot of people might think Fury got that black eye from the shooting range,” he shrugged. “But I know better.” 

“Hope that didn’t cause too much trouble.” 

Clint shook his head again. “Nah. The way Phil tells it, Fury can take a couple licks here and there.” 

Both assassins knew that had a shelf life. Sooner, rather than later, Fury would grow tired of taking his licks and bite back. In a part of themselves neither one talked about, they itched for the day Fury grew weary. 

“How is Phil?” The question was pointed, clear. 

Clint ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “He’s doing fine. Not so much suffering from the survivor guilt like I did, not so much to get over.” 

“Nightmares?” 

“Nothing from recent memories. Mostly about the patties.” 

_The Patties_ Right. Natasha remembered their ex-IRA acquaintances and Clint’s nickname for them. More than the men themselves she remembered the images of Clint being mercilessly tortured fueling her as she slit their throats. 

Despite the very serious nature of the content, Natasha's dry tongue was quick with a comment. “Don't you think its a little early in the reboot for your brain to start highlighting all the shit you two have to trudge through?" 

“Hey sweetheart, you asked.” 

“What’s Phil said about them?” 

At Clint’s silence Natasha resisted the very pressing urge to shake him. “You haven’t told him. No, of course not. That might make things simple.” 

Clint's smile was damn near incredulous. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you about to lecture me on keeping all involved parties in the loop? Because I think you could use an update in training on that one, princess.” 

“There’s a difference between a sexually charged one night stand and a 5 year relationship that’s inception was the culmination of another 5 years of pining.” It took more effort not to yell than she thought it should. 

“5 years of pining that could have been avoided if the pining party would have just balled the fuck up.” Clint faltered at the onset of Natasha’s words, but he jumped from Phil and was on the topic of Bruce in mere moments. 

Natasha was back to defensively dry. “Are you referring to me as the pining party?” 

Clint rolled his eyes. “I’m referring to you as the one with stunning emotional issues that needs to get her shit together.” 

“And you’re trying to say he _doesn’t_ have stunning emotional issues?” 

"I can't imagine you think so considering you fucked him, woke up at ass o'clock in the morning, and bailed out here without considering how that might affect him." 

Something in Natasha's chest dropped at Clint's words, at the look she could suddenly read clearly in his eyes. "What happened?" Her voice was like a whip. 

Clint’s face went deceptively blank and Natasha set down her coffee cup. Finally Clint’s body sagged with a sigh. “The day you disappeared, there was an...incident.” 

There hadn’t been any needlessly destructive incidents with the Hulk since the helicarrier. That was the last time he’d shown himself to be out of control. “What kind of ‘incident’, Clint?” She didn’t bother to hide the impatience in her words. She kept thinking about Bruce's face as he looked up at her, waited for her to kick him out. And then she hadn't. 

He took a measured breath, “They barely closed the basement chamber of the tower when he changed. It hadn’t been cleared yet and we lost a handful of people before they dropped the walls.” Natasha clenched her teeth. “He spent the next 2 days screaming and throwing himself around. They had to replace the stabilizers 7 times because they kept shattering.” 

Tony had designed a gadget that allowed walls to shift with the force of the Hulk’s blows to help preserve his enclosure. There had never been cause to test it. 

“Third day Jarvis was all, ‘Dr. Banner has resumed his human form’.” He shrugged off his terrible accent. “We questioned him, asked what set him off. He played a wicked game of, ‘Monster ate my memory’ before Jarvis finally took pity on Tony.” Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed and Clint chuckled. “You think he’d show anyone surveillance footage unless there were near-dire circumstances and shit?” 

“I thought Tony had access to all of Jarvis’ files,” Natasha said with an arched eyebrow. 

Clint snorted. “So did Tony; according to Jarvis we all have the right to a little privacy in our apartments.” He shrugged, “Still didn’t take him long to get to the files...though, like I said, I think Jarvis let him in.” He sobered. “He knew, though. He knew it had something to do with you.” 

Natasha’s jaw hardened. “What makes you think I had anything to do with Bruce changing? ” 

“What I’m trying to figure out,” Clint continued without acknowledging her question. “Is what the deal is with you two. You're obviously fascinated by him, which isn’t as weird as someone might think considering you regularly surround yourself with people who have or might try to kill you. I just don’t think I know when that fascination turned into an obsession.” He paused and took another deep breath. “And for that, I’m sorry Tash.” 

Right, because Clint wouldn’t know. With the lives they lead, things changed quickly. He’d checked out for quite a chunk of time in the grand scheme of things and since Clint’s leave began Bruce was constantly popping up as Natasha’s attending doctor. And when Natasha came back to the tower after spending hours calming Clint from his nightmares, Bruce was her companion. She could claim she didn’t know where their camaraderie began, but that would be foolish… 

**_A Month Before the Cabin (4 ½ Months Before the Present): The Tower_ **

“Will you be in need of any medical assistance, Agent Romanov?” 

There were a lot of very nice things about living in Stark Tower; the view and the location among them. However, Natasha’s favorite thing about living in the main residence of Tony Stark was that not a single person batted an eyelash when you disappeared for 4 days only to return at 5:30 one morning. This wasn’t true of the tower itself, but Jarvis didn’t bother Natasha so much. 

She sank down onto the couch in the common room, the closest point the main elevator took you into the residential floors. She relaxed her shoulders back against the cushions. “No, thank you, Jarvis,” she said, closing her eyes. 

After her words Natasha heard shuffling in the hall. She had just enough time to open her lids before Bruce appeared in the doorway. “I’d venture she’s more tired than anything else,” he said, by way of intercepting the A.I.’s next question. “If you could convince Agent Romanov to be cooperative, I’d like to help her to her floor.” 

“I’m afraid my programming only stretches so far, Dr. Banner,” came Jarvis’ flat reply before he went completely silent. 

It was testament to Natasha’s exhaustion that she simply sat there during their little interaction, but at Jarvis’ final words Natasha did snort. 

“I think I can make it the single elevator trip to my room, but I appreciate your concern,” she added the last part when Bruce’s eyes landed on hers. 

He nodded. “Absolutely, I have no doubt. I just figured it couldn’t hurt to let someone else look around the dark corners for the few minutes it takes you to get upstairs.” He shrugged, “I’m going to the lab, it’s not out of my way.” 

The quip about dark corners had Natasha hiding a very tired smirk as she pushed herself up off of the couch and headed for the elevator, Bruce wordlessly on her tail. 

“I look around all of my own dark corners, Doc,” she said just before the elevator doors closed on the two of them. 

Bruce’s reflection in the door showed her an indulgent smile, but even the reflection of his eyes was clear, _Everyone needs a helping hand, sometimes._

It wasn’t until she felt the steadying hand on her back and heard the elevator ding that she realized how much her exhaustion had allowed her to let her guard down. The weight of the hand was gone just as quickly as it had come. 

“Please try and get some rest, Agent.” There was nothing condescending in his tone, nothing that boasted 'I told you so', there was simply concern. Natasha nodded in response before exiting the elevator. 

That had been the beginning of the touches that became more frequent over the next couple of weeks. They always varied in reason and they always carried the same response; a spreading of warmth. Whether he was checking her for a concussion after a fight or helping her out of a S.H.I.E.L.D. chopper after a mission, his skin touching hers quickly began to signal to her body that it was okay to start shutting down. 

Bruce never overstepped his boundaries. He never held her up, only allowed her purchase for stability. He never walked onto her floor at Stark Tower, only rode with her to it. He never examined her injuries in full view of others, always lead her to as much privacy as they could afford. 

Natasha wouldn’t have called it a friendship, but she imagined Bruce would. The idea made Natasha question what exactly she considered a friendship. That was probably what ultimately led her to come onto Bruce that night. She was so used to people serving specific purposes, she probably just wanted to shove Bruce into a box and cut out all of the guessing. 

**_Back at the Cabin…_ **

Natasha pulled herself out of her thoughts, looking over at Clint. “Your lover died,” Clint opened his mouth but Natasha held up a hand to silence him. “Someone who over time had become a part of you, inside and out; someone you shared your hopes and fears with; someone you trusted absolutely and who trusted you was ripped away.” She paused, gathered her thoughts. “I imagine that is a bit like losing a vital organ.” 

Natasha looked down at her feet, bare even in the chill of the mountains. “When Bruce goes away, when the monster comes out, I feel this ache in my ribcage.” One hand came up, fingers moving to press against her sternum. “I remember that’s how the pain starts.” Her voice was incredibly quiet as she said the words. She lifted her eyes to meet Clint’s, hard and barely contained. 

For a full minute Clint didn’t say a word and neither did Natasha. Finally an exhale breached the air. The noise was huffed out, a suppressor over a .22. Natasha braced herself for his realization. 

”Well I’ll be damned,” he breathed. “You’re in love with him.” 

Natasha arched an eyebrow; he sounded so genuinely surprised. He noted the movement. “Jesus Tash,” he sighed, “I thought you were pushing your boundaries, maybe trying to see if you could get over some of your control shit.” He ran a hand over his face. “I had no idea that--” 

”I could have those feelings?” she asked, bone dry and eyebrow still arched. 

”Well, _yeah_.” Clint leaned forward, elbows coming to rest on his knees. He waved off her intention to address his response before she’d even opened her mouth. “Remember sweetheart, I’ve seen you do a lot of fucked up shit over the years and the majority of that fucked up shit involved men.” 

He had a point. Natasha could give him that. 

”I’ve always loved you.” Her words were honest, closest to small he had heard it in years. 

Clint smiled fondly. “Yeah, but I’m special.” He leaned back in his chair. “Don't be the one that runs yourself off, Tash." His was serious again as his eyes settled on the horizon, his shoulders relaxing fully into the chair. 

He stayed at the cabin with Natasha for another few days. They didn’t talk about Bruce. 

When Clint was leaving, dispatched on a mission, he took her hand and locked his eyes on hers. “This life is hard. We go and sometimes we come back...but sometimes we don’t.” He hitched his bag up on his shoulder. “It’s fine that you’re scared, but he has a right to know how you feel.” He smiled fondly at her, the way he had just days before, “If that man is lucky enough to hold your attention, he has a right to know what he's done.” 

Natasha nodded once and Clint was gone. 

She made her trek later that day. Back to the Tower. It was time to sift through the ash. 

She’d barely set her bag down when Jarvis’ voice rang through her living room. “I would have prefered time to warn you, but I’m afraid--oh my. My apologies, Agent Romanov,” and her elevator doors were opening. 

“Quick question. Really, won’t take but a minute,” Tony said, words starting before the doors had even stopped moving. When he stepped out into the entryway he had a bottle of vodka in his hand and grease decorating him from head to toe. He didn’t pause once inside, heading straight to the kitchen to commence opening and closing cabinets. “What did you think the big guy would do when Bruce woke up in the morning and you were gone?” There was the typical Tony snark, but it lacked that level of malice he got when he was truly angry. No, he sounded more tired than anything else...and yeah, drunk. When he found what he was looking for he grunted in triumph. Then he set two shot glasses on the counter and opening the bottle. 

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t say I thought much about it.” 

“Lies, lies, lies.” Tony pushed an overfilled shot glass in her direction before picking up his own. “Come on, mother Russia, we're all girls here and I think even you’re gonna need a little liquid courage.” She continued staring at Tony, eyes flicking down to the shot glass occasionally, and he sighed. “Considering the way you soft shoed out of here, I’m thinking you don’t have to best grasp on emotional expression and honesty.” 

She stared at him for just a moments longer before picking up and tossing back the shot, face expressionless as the liquid went down her throat. “What makes you think I have any intention of having this conversation with you?” Her voice was stone, and yet Tony tipped another shots worth into her now empty glass. 

“Oh I don't think you do. But you’re here; in my tower, not at S.H.I.E.L.D.” He lifted his own filled glass and poured it back. “You’re calculated, Agent. You don’t make choices that you don’t know the outcome of…” he arched an eyebrow. “Well, normally anyway.” 

“How many?” 

Tony took a deep breath at her question and poured another shot. “3 dead; two soldiers, one civilian. 17 wounded.” 

Natasha hissed out a breath through her teeth, the sound the only indication that the information had affected her. “Where is he?” 

Tony pointed to her glass. “Bottoms up.” She took it without pause, eyes not leaving Tony’s. “You need to decide what you want.” 

“Tony.” 

“Widow.” He took a shot and kept talking. “Don’t get me wrong, I am all for pushing good ol’ Bruce’s buttons. More than most I’d say. But he didn’t take this as well as he takes my version of shock therapy.” 

“Tony.” 

”I’m just saying, if you’re gonna keep treating the big guy like an emotional balm for your deranged lifestyle-” 

She leaned forward, palms flat on the counter. “I will string you up from the ‘A’.” 

He threw back another shot, eyes flicking up to the ceiling at her very real threat. “He passed out in the media room.” 

Natasha was ghosting through the tower in seconds, eyes and ears scanning for anyone that might delay her mission. Luckily, the place was completely dead at 4 o’clock in the morning. Well, except for Tony apparently and the faint sounds of a DVD menu looping from the room at the far end of the commons. 

Somewhere between Tony telling Natasha where Bruce was and Natasha finding the door, Bruce had woken up. In the brightness of the Breakfast Club DVD menu he looked particularly ragged. It wasn’t just his tousled hair, the salt and pepper flecks highlighted. It was how his shoulders sagged and his back bent. It was the stiff way with which he moved. 

Seeing his new companion Bruce sat up on the couch. “Good evening, Agent.” There was no malice in the tone but ‘Agent’ left a surprising sting. 

She ignored his forced pleasantries, “Couldn’t sleep?” 

Bruce nodded, “I was tired of sitting in the lab.” 

Natasha perched in a chair next to the couch. ”How long have you been in here?” 

Bruce scrubbed a hand over his face. “Long enough to wish I’d gone back to the lab a few minutes sooner.” 

Natasha arched an eyebrow at the bluntness of his comment, but he sounded so exhausted she wasn’t entirely sure he meant to say it. 

Before she could decide exactly how she wanted to respond Bruce sighed. “That was uncalled for, I apologize. It’s been a long couple of weeks.” 

“Tell me about it.” The words rang out like a bell in a room that's silence was only interrupted when the music in the DVD menu began looping again. 

Bruce laughed; one good bark of a laugh. “Natasha, where did you go?” he asked without further preamble. His words were sharp but they weren't angry. Hurt. It wasn't obvious, he wasn't trying to make her feel bad, but she heard it all the same. 

Natasha tipped her head to the side, eyes raking over him and taking in all the details in an instant. His clothing was wrinkled. At first glance she'd thought it was from sleeping on the couch but upon closer inspection it was easy to see a familiar pattern to the wrinkles. They were the wrinkles of someone that hadn't changed their clothing in days. Tony frequently sported these wrinkles. Additionally, there were dark circles under his eyes. If his clothing hadn't given it away his eyes definitely would have betrayed that he hadn't been sleeping. The scruff on his cheeks added to the whole picture. 

"I have a cabin in the mountains,” she said quietly, eyes tracking his every shift. 

Bruce stiffened, his spine going ridged. "And you went out there to...?" 

"Get some distance." 

"From the situation or from me?" His voice went abruptly low and the change had falsehoods sliding from Natasha's mouth almost on autopilot. 

"From the biggest parts of both." 

”Care to clarify that for me?” Bruce asked without pause. 

Natasha’s shoulders sagged. When she spoke she sounded utterly ernest. “Look, Bruce,” she paused, as if she was trying to find the words. “I have to be honest; the big guy, he scares the _crap_ out of me.” She pulled one of her feet up into her chair and wrapped her arms around her knee. “You may have noticed, I have a bit of a penchant for control. The idea that you could go off,” she closed her eyes and shivered. 

When she opened them she could see the sting of her words reflected in Bruce's movements; his hand raising to press against his breastbone, his eyes darting to the opposite wall. She wouldn’t call it the desired reaction, but it was the one she expected. However, what came out of his mouth genuinely surprised her. 

"You're blaming this on him? _That's_ what you're going with?" 

Natasha's eyebrows shot up into her hairline at Bruce’s words, how incredulous he sounded. 

"You..." He shook his head. "I'd hoped you'd have the decency to be honest with me. I know it's a lot but I thought I'd earned at least that much. Instead you're going to sit there and tell me that you're afraid when we both know that is complete bullshit." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "You don't put yourself in situations you don't think you can control, Natasha. If you were scared of him you would never have agreed to live in a building with me let alone let me _inside_ of you." By the end of the sentence Bruce's words were clipped and he had a white knuckled grip on the remote for the projector. Natasha was trying to ignore how exactly his words matched Tony's spoken less then half an hour before. 

They were both right. She wasn't afraid of the Hulk. She knew that. Natasha had learned a long time ago, you can lie to other people but you have to be honest with yourself. She knew she'd conquered her fear of him when she'd managed to survive on the helicarrier. 

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't do this right now." He stood from the couch and Natasha watched him walk toward the door. Realizing he still had the remote in his hand, Bruce paused at the door to set it on a small table located there. 

Bruce didn't talk to Natasha for a week and a half. Jarvis said his sleeping habits had settled, though. 

**_The Present: S.H.I.E.L.D. Medical_ **

Angry or not, Natasha couldn’t stay away from Clint’s room in medical. Stupid little boy. He always stayed out too long watching the Junior agents. This was his 8th nasty case of pneumonia since she'd known him. 

When she arrived at the room and found Coulson sitting in a chair next to Clint’s bed filling out paperwork she crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway. She wasn’t surprised to see him there considering their conversation after Clint had gone into medical...if it could be called a conversation. 

"Why'd you let him do it, anyway?" Her words were quiet with the willingness to ask a question that simply made her angry when they'd spoken before about Coulson's regret. 

Coulson shrugged, eyes fixed on the report in his lap. "He was scared, he needed space." He glanced up, "He did tell me. I believe that implies he intended for me to listen." 

"And the secret encounters? Was that you respecting his wishes?" Natasha asked. She moved into the room now and hopped up on the windowsill. 

Coulson smiled, the kind of smile you didn't really intend on but rather reflected out of your eyes. "I'm only human." He looked back at Clint. "I couldn't let him forget me." Natasha opened her mouth but Coulson held up a hand. “You know just as well as I do how easy it is to disregard feelings in our line of work.” 

She arched an eyebrow, “And you know just as well as I do that Clint is glutton for punishment.” 

Coulson nodded, “Oh yes, I know. In fact, I’m fairly certain that’s the only reason he agreed to take me back.” 

Natasha smirked, the confirmation of their reunion settling nicely in her mind as her eyes drifted over to Clint’s still but mending form. “I’m sure he could think of a few others.” 

**_The Present: The fourth Wednesday in February_ **

Natasha was crossing the lobby of the office building in Brooklyn that housed S.H.I.E.L.D.s HR department, intent on meeting Bruce so they could go get lunch, when the explosion happened; one minute she was signing out, the next minute she was diving behind the security station as the wall of windows on her side of the lobby shattered. While she was hitting the ground and rolling into a crouch Natasha was filing through her short term memory, scanning the lobby in her mind, already trying to work through some kind of plan. She was moving as soon as her feet came back to her, pulling open a panel under the desk and exposing a button that bared the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo. She pushed it and heavy metal shutters began to slide down over the windows and doors. 

Those individuals employed in the building whom were trained to handle situations such as this were already doing their best to calm those around them. The personnel knew where to go, they knew about the bunker underneath the building. However, the majority of those in the building were not field agents. Their combat training was basic. In the best cases. Everyone else was pure civilian. 

Natasha managed to throw the guard and herself out of the booth when the security panel blew. Immediately the shutters in the process of covering the door and windows froze. The explosion caused a short in the system and apparently somebody took out the backup generator. 

Natasha found some temporary cover behind a podium on her side of the lobby when the marching started. From her place she could see them easily; 15 men in the first wave, steady click clack. 3 with limps, click delayed clack. She could tell right away they weren't military but they were all in full SWAT tactical gear. They didn't come in through the hole, they came in through the doors thanks to the lacking security of the building. 

Even before her quick brain had worked through all of the variables knives were sliding easily from their hiding places. 

Natasha began sorting through the men systematically. Each man that came in her direction was crossed off with startling precision. She found holes in their armor at a glance and when she couldn't find holes she was knocking them unconscious with some very sturdy thighs. 

She didn't miss the Irish ink they were covered in, each piece shining light in a dark corner of her mind. 

The men separated and Natasha propelled herself over some of their heads, arterial blood, black and thick, arching up as their bodies fell. One made the mistake of trying to lay hands on her while she descended. The crunch was audible when her heel connected with his nose. And then she was dancing; pushing off with fists and feet, kicking and punching men as they came toward her. 

The next wave that came in wasn't like the first. These were dressed in fatigues, all holding rifles. And they were heading for her. Even as Natasha knocked men to the ground she felt a sinking sensation in her gut; their ignoring all other staff unless directly engaged was more than slightly odd. Furthermore, they easily outnumbered her and she was starting to take some serious hits. Initially she’d assumed this attack was in an attempt to secure classified personal files, as those were the only documents of any importance whose hard copies were housed in this facility. She didn’t think that was the case anymore. 

As she was preparing to fall back she heard the beautiful sound of vibranium slicing through the air. An old fashioned security gate located halfway into the lobby fell into place, halting the progress of the men headed in her direction. It cut the group in half, leaving a manageable amount to Natasha while also leaving something for Cap to do on the other side. The way the gate fell left the large gap of the shattered window all to Natasha while essentially protecting the rest of the lobby from a sideways attack. This was going to be a problem. 

She huffed out a sigh and then planted a foot in the middle of the closest man's chest, propelled herself backward, and latched onto the security gate, scaling it. From there she kicked out at every man that came in her direction. 

When an electric click echoed through the air Natasha's stomach dropped. She fell from the gate, body slumping to the ground and skull knocking against the floor. 

It had to do with neural pathways. She'd read the file years ago, she still remembered it, she remembered everything. The device blocked the signals your brain sent to the voluntary muscles, blocked the action potential to your motor neurons. 

Sadly, knowing that was little comfort as a blade went sliding into soft belly flesh and she heard a guttural scream that stood no chance of being her own. No, she wouldn't scream anymore. But that didn't slow Natasha's working mind, that didn't stop the pain. 

As she lay immobile on the floor Bruce roared from the buildings main doorway. Not Bruce, he was already too green to still be considered Bruce. The Hulk. Hulk's clothing shredded as he grew to his full size and more people began screaming from the civilian population. The Hulk reared up, roaring. 

Natasha was losing blood fast, she could feel it warm and sticky soaking into her clothing. And it hurt. 

She was pushed onto her back and a face swam into view; a smiling man the spitting image of one she'd met so many years ago. Maybe younger. 

"Beautiful Lilith, you look just like you do in all the pictures." The Irish accent was thick and the hunting knife he'd, by the looks of the blood on it, used to stab her with came into view. "You wanna know what's happenin' in your mushy bits right now, darlin'?" He used the tip of the knife to point at her wound, keeping the blade up in her line of sight. 

Dimly Natasha heard explosions mixed with the Hulk's screams... 

"Hey, hey!" The Irish man slapped her face. She had absolutely no outlet for the urge to cut off his hand. "Pay me a bit o' mind, little one, I'm tryin' to tell you a story." He held her chin between his fingers. "So right now you might think that the blood is the problem, but you'd be dead wrong." He chuckled to himself. "See, if I were to venture a guess, I'd say your bowels are emptying into yer body cavity." He smiled wide, "Instant infection unless you get some medical attention." The man used the fingers still holding her chin to turn her head to the side, "But it looks like your doc is a little busy." He pulled her face back to look up at him before he slid his hand slowly down her neck. "Its really a shame we had to take you this way. Thought I'd get a chance to pla-" 

"Gotta go now, boss. They're running out of shit to throw at it," a man shouted from just inside the shattered window. This man's accent, while present, was much more subdued. Like he'd spent years away. She had a hard time making out some vowels. Why... 

That's when she became aware of Steve's screams, they had mixed so easily with the Hulk's inhuman ones. They were a combination of commands and calls for her attention. 

"Iron Man, Hawkeye, we need you in here now," clearly said into his com and then, "Widow!" before he took the butt of a rifle to the gut. He wasn't down, but the continued winding was slowing his attempts to get to her. There were so many men. 

The man hovering over her paused for a moment in thought. Then he nodded. "Right, we'll have plenty o' time later for catchin' up." Heedless of her injury he roughly slid arms underneath her neck and legs to hoist her. 

The sound of an arrow flying through the air and the sight of it sticking out of the eye of the man that stood in the gaping hole where the window used to be all seemed to happen at once. The force knocked him backward, but she knew he was dead instantly. 

From across the lobby Steve's instruction were music to her ears, "Hawkeye, get Widow. Iron Man-" 

"On it. Big guy," and Tony's repulsors faded in the direction of the still happening mayhem surrounding the Hulk. 

Her captor did not pause, not even to look at the body of his fallen employee. He simply continued forward, hopping through the broken pane and moving toward a black SUV sticking out of the alley next to the building. 

Distantly the gate that separated her from the rest of the mayhem rattled violently, metal crashing against metal. "Don't think he's too keen on my assistance, Cap," Tony’s amplified voice projected clearly. 

The Irishman managed to get the door open. "Can never keep good help," he muttered, depositing her into the back seat and slammed the door. It took her a moment to work out that the device keeping her immobile wasn't actually attached to anything. Wonderful, it was wireless now. 

The next arrow Clint let loose was a grappling arrow. Once it entered the Irishman's throat it unfurled and Natasha’s window was splattered with blood. She didn’t get to see his body hit the ground. No. Before he could fall Hulk was there, grabbing the man and squeezing. Bones snapped and cracked, blood oozing through various injuries and orifices. Natasha watched through the curtain of her bloody window, head unable to turn. Though, in all honesty, she probably would have watched either way. When his body did fall she became incredibly aware of the green monster outside of the car. 

Almost on cue the rear van doors were ripped from their hinges and a terrifying roar that froze Natasha’s blood filled the space around them. The roof was peeled up next, metal screeching horribly as it was torn apart. The van itself was lifted and dropped many times, each jarring Natasha further. 

Everything froze; for a few minutes the noises around Natasha just stopped. Because Clint shot through a slat in the gate and there were too many men in there for him to make it to the street in the short amount of time she estimated remained. There was a possibility Tony would come, however she wasn't entirely sure that would mean anything. 

She never spent any serious time contemplating her death; when constantly faced with her reality it seemed pointless. If nothing else, she was an "Avenger" that shared a bed with a man whom on occasion turned into a giant green rage monster. However, as she laid unmoving with blood dripping onto the floor of the SUV and an anxiety inducing blackness slowly clouding her vision she couldn't help think there was something karmically poetic about the evil Black Widow being left immobile and at the mercy of the one person she both loved and feared the most. 

After that Natasha couldn’t really say. What she knew was that she woke up on the ground outside of the SUV and her stomach felt like it was on fire. The pressure on the wound actually shocked her into consciousness. And she still couldn't move. 

"Tash," Clint's voice was calm and controlled, hand remaining on her wound while his other searched for the device. When he didn't find anything with the first cursory check she could see the slightest sparks of panic began lighting up his eyes. 

On his second pass he found something. When he detached it from her neck everything came back at once leaving Natasha gasping for air. The movement caused the flexing of her abdominal muscles and she squeezed her eyes shut in pain. 

"Aren't you supposed to be on medical leave, Barton?" she grunted out. 

Clint dropped the electrodes onto the ground. "Oh, are we speaking to me again?" His tone held that same calm and quiet quality, but his lips kicked up in a grin at the edge. It didn't quite reach his eyes. 

"Well I hear you pulled your head out of your ass, so I'll go ahead and say I got what I wanted." As she spoke she noticed the din of noise starting to fade. For a moment she thought she was blacking out again. Her tongue was already thick in her mouth, it wouldn't be a stretch. Then she heard a loud roar not 10 yards from them and she realized the fight hadn't stopped, the Hulk had simply left it. Concentrating Natasha could hear Steve and Tony fighting the men that kept coming. 

It took a clearly naked Bruce kneeling at her other side for Natasha to realize that his change hadn't been spontaneous or wholly uncontrolled. 

He was checking her pupils, her pulse, skin discoloration. Clint was speaking quickly, "Hunting knife to her lower abdomen, slurred speech, she keeps losing consciousness." 

_Huh, who knew._

"And she took a bad knock to the head," Bruce muttered, lifting her head to feel along her scalp. Finding a warm spot he carefully set her head back down. "Right," his tone was clipped and Natasha swore she could see a green tint to his skin, "We need to get her to medical now." He took over Clint's pressure on her stomach and Clint began speaking into his comm, loading an arrow into his bow at the same time. 

"Medics in 3," he said to Bruce before raising his bow. "Tony, Cap!" The two men dove away from the fray and Clint's arrow flew smoothly through the spaces in the security gate once more. On contact the arrow exploded, gasing everyone within 5 feet. Round-up. 

"Cool tech," she breathed and Bruce's hand was on her cheek. "Glad you didn't kill me, Doc," she said, seeing the green still reflected in his eyes. "You'd be filling out forms for the next 4 years." She lifted a hand to wrap weak fingers around his wrist. 

Bruce's anger ebbed and his lips quirked up, "Mm, you know how intensely I dislike paperwork." He stroked his thumb over her skin. "And to be quite honest, I don’t think the Other Guy has a solid grasp of the alphabet." His voice was soft, sweet and playful. 

Right, he wouldn’t hurt her, she should know that... 

**_3 Months Ago: Common room in the Tower_ **

A few days after Natasha's very public fight with Clint, after he'd outed her interactions with Bruce and solidified her place in the romantic section of the rumor mill, she'd been doing a fantastic job of avoiding everyone. She was the picture of stealth and subtlety, as well as a fair amount of cowardice. Natasha was no different than anyone in that she most certainly didn't enjoy being reminded of her shortcomings. That fight with Clint was a billboard for her shortcomings, especially considering his loud assessment of her emotional state. That being said, she had no interest in being looked on with pitying eyes. She would simply hide away until the storm passed. 

Knowing there was some time before the other Avengers returned to the Tower for movie night she took the elevator up to the common room, intent on claiming a book she'd left behind. 

Bruce was sitting on a couch with his elbows on his knees when the elevator doors opened. "So I've been giving this a lot of thought," he said when Natasha stopped a few steps inside the room. 

"This?" she asked wearily. He was waiting for her. That was disconcerting. 

Bruce nodded and she swore she could hear his pounding heart once more, barely contained under the shielding of his rib cage. He was clasping and unclasping his hands, foot tapping on the floor, and there was a very fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. Natasha didn't think she'd ever seen him so nervous. "For some time I've had it in my head that you knew how I felt about you and decided you'd rather disappear before you had to deal with it." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, I know I've scared you..." 

"Bruce," Natasha sighed. 

He rushed on, cutting off his own apology of sorts, “You didn't run because of how I feel about you. You don't _know_ how I feel about you. I think you're under the impression that you do, but you really don't." He shrugged, "I'd like to clear that error up now." 

She stared at him, motionless. 

Bruce shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. "Come on, Natasha. You're not scared of the other guy. You're scared of _me_. You _know_ me better than that," he said, voice raw and open. "I can handle this, I can have this conversation." He stood up and she took a step back. "I've gone through every permutation; from 'I love you back' to 'I’m actually having a secret affair with Agent Hill.'" Natasha arched an eyebrow, ignoring his words implications, and Bruce allowed one of his serene smiles. "I’ve spent quite a bit of time in my own head thinking about the situation, and I can do this." 

"Maybe I can't," Natasha said dryly. "Your feelings are very important, I'm sure. Here's the problem," she started walking toward him. "I do terrible things every day," her tone was deadly serious, "Horrible, immoral things that typically serve the purpose of getting me and mine out with a little leverage." She stopped in front of him with her arms crossed. "So let's say we set aside the fact that you could go off at any moment and snap me like a twig, or beat me to a bloody pulp and then rip me to pieces in the bed we share. Are you honestly telling me you'd put up with knowing that when I went out on a mission I would most likely be adding to my already extremely high body count, just so you could fuck me regularly?" 

Bruce's hands wrapped around her biceps and, even though she didn't shake him off, anger flared brightly in her eyes. "I'm in _love_ with you." The words sent a thrill through her chest. Her expression didn't falter. "I have been much longer than I'd care to admit. Clint was absolutely right; I've been enthralled with you since you pulled me back into this world. You are strength and wisdom and absolute beauty. You are calculated and poised in ways I have never witnessed first hand." Natasha opened her mouth to speak but Bruce hurried on. "I know what your job requires, I understand how you accomplish your missions, how you'll do anything you have to. I understand that." He shifted a little closer, "For Christs sakes, when you wanted to know what punctured your lung during that bar fight on Long Island, I spent my evening repeatedly watching footage of you skewering a man in the eye socket with a pool cue." His hands moved up her neck to cup her jaw. "I don't care what you do on missions, I don't care what you've done. If you can look at me and say the same, if you can love me," he cupped her jaw a little more tightly, eyes fixed on her glassy ones, and her stone cold expression starting to crack. She barely registered the elevator doors sliding open or the other Avengers entering the common room. "I will never look at you any differently." 

None of the thoughts in her head made sense after those words came out of his mouth. She didn't know how to process or where to put this information. Dimly she was aware of the people watching them but short of someone pulling a weapon, she didn't care. Then Bruce kissed her, body pressing close and thumbs stroking her cheeks. Natasha shivered. 

"Well I'll be damned..." Tony said, actually sounding amazed. 

**_The Present: Ambushed S.H.I.E.L.D. building..._ **

"Natasha!" Clint's voiced ripped her back into consciousness. Blacking out, right, that was something she did now. 

"Here, I'm here," she rasped, throat tremendously dry. 

"Medical just made the lobby," Tony said, Iron Man suit landing next to them with Steve in tow. 

"Where's Bruce?" Natasha asked. 

Tony shook his head, "Someone missed the memo where he was that big green thing that had been pummeling everyone before," he pointed in the direction of what noise was left, "And tried to shoot him." 

She didn't need to look to know the metal gate that had been such a concern before was lying in mangled shards on the ground. She heard screaming and focused in time to watch the Hulk put a man through a window. The sight of bleeding gashes in tattooed flesh made her smile.. 

Steve sighed, eyes fainting closed. "I think he was the last of them." He looked distracted, in fact they all looked like they were having difficulty waiting for medical to receive the all clear to enter the alley. Steve's large hand was wrapped around Natasha's small wrist, strong fingers pressed against her pulse. 

Footsteps over broken glass told Natasha she was right. Medical swarmed her in moments, hands flashing into sight as they fastened an oxygen mask over her face. 

"They have to sedate you to transfer you," Bruce said, belt jingling when he slid up next to her. One of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that entered the building had given him a change of clothing and the new pants were currently riding low on his hips. Natasha reached for the oxygen mask but Bruce put his hand over hers. "If you let them sedate you without breaking any of their wrists I'll get Tony to revamp your gauntlets," he offered. 

Natasha still didn't feel any inclination to stop tracking every movement the medical staff made with quick eyes. "Nat." Damn, she hoped he'd missed that. 

She took a deep breath then pushed the mask aside. "I hate when they sedate me," she said. 

"I know, baby." His grip on her hand was comforting. “All custom gadgets, Stark special products. Just think of Clint’s bow. Imagine what that maniacal bastard could cook up.” 

"Throw in a debriefing in the ICU and you have a deal." 

Bruce pushed the mask back over her nose and mouth before he kissed her on the forehead. "Deal,” he mouthed against her skin. The needle slid into a vein in her hand a moment later. 

\------ 

The first time Natasha woke up was in the PACU after her surgery. The haze she felt as she tracked a woman around the room was an interesting sensation and one she hadn’t experienced in years. She'd been injured, many times, but she hadn't had an injury serious enough to require she be put under in quite a while. Of course she'd had a few for which it was recommended... 

"If you keep watching that poor nurse you're gonna scare her." 

Natasha crooked a small smile when she heard Bruce's voice. The other woman didn't so much as pause in her movements. "Poor nurse my commy ass; she has a .22 holstered at her ankle." Natasha's lips barely moved as she spoke, propofol taking it’s toll on her muscles. This time the other woman did pause, but it was simply to throw a wink at Natasha. Then she was out of the room. 

"Even the nurses are packing, I think I've seen it all." But Bruce didn't sound particularly surprised. 

"Based on my waking I take it the surgery was a success; no infection?" 

"No infection." Bruce’s fingers carded through her hair. "Somehow the knife blade slid right in between the folds of your small intestine. They were worried it nicked a length but when they went in all they found were muscle tears." 

"That's all, huh?" Natasha said around a very sudden yawn. Realization dawned on her and she caught Bruce's gaze with her own. "Sneaky son of a bitch," she muttered as her lids began to fall closed. 

Bruce continued running his hand over her head and through her hair. "I'll have Tony draw you up a couple of mod blueprints," he offered in a low tone as she lost consciousness once more. 

\--- 

When Natasha woke up the second time she was met with the sight of every Avenger as well as Coulson and Fury settled in various places around her hospital room. They were unsurprisingly having a discussion. 

"--put our dear widow on her ass like that?" 

There was a pounding sensation in her head reminiscent of many concussions she'd experienced in the past. Tony’s voice resonated in her damaged skull at a painful volume. 

”A device Agent Romanov had a hand in creating before she became part of S.H.I.E.L.D.” Coulson was sitting at the foot of her bed and he sounded tired, clipped tones hinting at too many hours hunched over stacks of paperwork. Well that and the other thing... 

”Real fun little gadget. Guess they’ve upgraded from that taser looking shit.” Clint was in a chair on one side of her, head pillowed on her arm. 

”Did you not think they'd come gunning for you after they saw footage from the battle?” Fury asked from near the doorway, settled in a hospital chair with his feet planted firmly on the floor. 

Natasha heaved an audible sigh and tried to sit up. "It hadn't-hadn't really crossed my mind, sir." Her voice was scratchy, throat dry and raw. After a moment of struggling the back of her bed lifted until she was at a comfortable tilt, Bruce pushing the button with a small smirk. 

Fury rolled his eye, "Cross your mind what they may have wanted with you?” He asked the question but she was pretty sure he already knew. 

”We're currently investigating that. We believe the leader--” Coulson’s story was perfectly woven to distract from what was very clear. 

”He was here to kidnap and torture me for slitting his brother's throat.” Her voice was hoarse, like someone had scraped it raw, but she felt completely in control of her muscles. 

"Natasha." The fact that Coulson said anything was indicative of how loud Fury was about to get. 

"Huh," Fury grunted. "Yeah, I just love it when people's personal vendettas cost my department money." He looked around the room crowded with Avengers and shook his head. "Think you guys could do me the GREAT FAVOR of each compiling lists of people you think might try to BLOW UP MY BUILDINGS so that we can find them and nail their asses down BEFORE they detonate?" He didn't wait for a reply before he stood and swept out of the room, muttering about how much he already spends replacing battle gear. 

Natasha glanced at Coulson, his jaw was tense and he was staring at Clint's left foot kicked up on the bed. "See, that wasn't too bad," Clint said quietly. 

"Um, excuse me," Tony raised a hand in question from where he was leaned against the doorway, one arm still folded across the arc reactor, and a plaintive look on his face. "Whose throat was slit and why wasn't that too bad?" 

"Clint." Coulson's voice was firm. Coulson looked at Tony. "It seems that some ill will was created between Agent Romanov and these men when she..." 

"Watched their brother bleed out on the floor of a filthy basement?" Clint supplied. 

"Clint." This time it was Natasha that spoke. 

"Oh for Christ's sake," Tony snapped. 

Natasha started speaking before Clint could open his mouth again. "It was a bit of a plea bargain that got me into S.H.I.E.L.D." Her words were short, firm. "The prototype for the device used today is what got me that plea bargain. It was going to be mass produced but I turned the tech into S.H.I.E.L.D. and they shut it down." 

"Why would you do that?" Steve spoke from next to the window, brows furrowed. "''Regimes fall everyday,' why would you get involved?" The question was directed at Natasha but she didn't miss the way Steve's eyes fixed on Clint. 

"No, no, no, I'm still stuck on whose throat and what about that was not bad!" 

"It's not important right now, Tony." 

"How are those not important things? Bags of crazy just brought their crazy down for non-Avenger related reasons. Since I was part of the relief effort, I'd love to know why." 

"You didn't help Natasha because she's an Avenger, you helped her because she is your friend and teammate. Now shut up and let someone answer my question. Clint?" Steve's eyes left Tony and landed back on Clint; engaging in a systematic counting of the ceiling tiles. 

After a moment Clint sat back in his chair, placed his foot on the floor, and swiped a hand down his face. With a breath his shoulders relaxed and he was _Clint_. "Mission went south," he shrugged. "Nat, back when S.H.I.E.L.D. only called her Widow, was working with these guys. We didn't know why; I was supposed to do some recon and gather intel." 

"How'd that turn out?" Bruce prompted when he paused. 

Clint snorted. "Captured just a few hours in. I was making my way through the trees and suddenly I wasn't making my way anywhere anymore." 

"The prototype," Tony said, connecting the dots with ease. 

"Ding ding ding, the Stark gets it," Clint said. "After they captured me they threw me down into this basement. Full of junk; boxes, old furniture, odds and ends." Clint's gaze slid to Natasha and he winked. 

Natasha rolled her eyes and cleared her throat. "I'd found out they were going to turn on me so I'd decided to run...with a few things of theirs. I'd been locating those particular items when they tossed him down; 17 steps and a cement floor." 

Clint’s smile turned to one typically used by most for fond retellings, "You remembered." 

"How could I forget." Natasha looked at Steve. "I hid in an armoire." 

That piece of information made Steve uncomfortable. The shift was almost imperceptible, but Natasha made a career out of perceiving the imperceptible. 

”We were down there for 2 ½ months, give or take. Couldn't figure out how to get around the tech,” Clint finished with an almost astounding lack of flourish. 

Tony let out a low whistle. Natasha scoffed. “I don’t know how you can say that as if you remember; you were unconscious for most of it.” 

”With a nurse like you to revive me how could I forget one second of those few waking hours.” At this Clint directed a wink at Bruce, who promptly snorted and rolled his eyes. 

When Steve cleared his throat it echoed around the room. If Natasha hadn’t been watching Clint she might have missed the slight jump of his shoulders that could have been a scream. “I’m guessing you didn’t spend 2 ½ months locked in a basement being vigorously questioned non-violently to the point of severe exhaustion,” Steve sighed. 

”Not exactly,” Clint said directing a toothy smile at Steve. 

"Wait, let me just make sure I've got this straight; you spent 2 ½ months in an armoire..." Tony began. 

"Watching Clint get tortured and tending to his wounds after his torturers left, yes," Natasha answered. 

Tony stared at her for a moment. "But you didn't know him..." 

Natasha shook her head, "I knew that he was S.H.I.E.L.D. and he was on the mountain following me." 

"And you did this why? 'Cause he was just so damn easy on the eyes?" Tony asked. 

"I did it because he didn't give me up to them." She shrugged, "He saw me hide in the armoire and when they started torturing him he didn't tell them anything, they kept torturing him and he never told them anything, said he wasn't that kind of monster." Clint shifted in his chair next to her and she was done talking. 

"So what did yo-" 

"Stark! What you need to get straight is that Agent Romanov saved the life of a S.H.I.E.L.D. asset, when it would have been much easier to kill him and save herself, simply because he did not sacrifice her when he had the chance. That will be all we discuss of this tonight, and any continued discussion will be what Agents Romanov and Barton feel like sharing at a later date," Coulson's voice was a whip, cracking loud leaving no room for discussion. Tony rolled his eyes but otherwise didn't retort. Coulson sighed. "Once Agent Romanov has stabilized she will be moved to the tower, where all of you are to remain until further notice." 

"With all due respect, sir," Steve began. "They went after one of our own. I would like the chance to do something about that." 

Coulson gave Steve a tired smile. "This is how the Director wants it handled for the time being." 

Steve's jaw flexed but otherwise he didn't make a move. 

\--- 

Coulson was the first to leave. At his exit Natasha's gaze drifted to Bruce; staring intently at Clint whose head was tossed over his shoulder to watch Coulson. 

"Hey," she said softly. 

Bruce seemed to pull himself out of a daze. "Hey," he replied, hand coming up to brush over her temple. "How's your head feeling?" 

Before she could answer, Tony's voice rose from the discussion he and Steve were having by the doorway. "Don't tell me to calm down, Rogers." 

Steve rolled his eyes, "Oh, its 'Rogers' now?" 

"Well it wasn't 'Captain' last night! I'm not just going to follow your orders 'cause you said so," Tony replied, eyes murderous. 

Unfortunately the other occupants of the room were staring at them with slack jaws. Except for Natasha; Natasha had a smirk on her face and a hand held out to Clint. 

"Goddammit," he muttered, smacking a wad of cash into her palm. 

Tony, angry as he was, stared at them for a solid 15 second before he turned back to Steve. 

"You know this is bullshit! He is hiding-" 

"It's what he does Tony! He is the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.! I'm just asking you have a modicom of discretion," Steve hissed. 

Tony settled back on his heels, "Oh," and he walked out of the room. 

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face before turning to the unlookers, "My apologies." He moved around Clint to the top of Natasha’s bed and bent to kiss her forehead. "I'm going to make sure Tony doesn't follow Fury into the bathroom," he said with that winning Captain America smile. 

Natasha patted his cheek, "Use protection." 

Steve's face was scarlet as he left the room and Natasha wasn't entirely sure Clint would ever stop laughing. 

\--- 

Once it was just Bruce and Natasha it started. 

"Did you see this coming?" He didn't sound angry, but that didn't mean anything. 

Natasha shook her head. "I hadn't thought about that device, those men, in years-" 

"Except that isn't true is it?" 

"No." The answer was immediate. Natasha sighed and rubbed her hands over her face. "I think about them all the time..." she trailed off, looking around the room. After a moment she looked back at Bruce, "I thought I was safe." The words were so simply said, Bruce looked pained. "Then the Battle of New York happened, with all the media coverage I guess they found me." 

"What did they do to him?" 

Natasha furrowed her eyebrows. "What do you mean?" 

Bruce rolled his eyes. "You were shifty, Coulson was pissed off, and Clint was distracted. I'm not the only one that saw it. What did they do to him, Natasha?" 

Natasha rolled her eyes. "What do the bad guys ever do; they tortured him. Every day. Most of the time they used the device, sometimes they didn't. He was mostly conscious but every once in a while-" She paused, eyes fainting closed. "But none of it mattered because he didn't make a peep. Didn't falter once," when the laugh came out it was bitter. "He didn't even look in my Goddamn direction." She shut her eyes, "I dragged him out of that place, though. I killed the men that broke him, and dragged him through the snow back to his handler. I took my lumps, surrendered myself to one of the many agencies that had been chasing me for years, ready to take my sentence because this man had shown me _true_ mercy and I just hid. I owe him everything." 

Bruce watched Natasha's face as she spoke. He was silent for a few moments once she was done. When he did speak his tone was completely devoid of any shortness it possessed before. "They would have killed him. Probably first.” 

She knew that, hell she’d sat there for 2 ½ months trying to convince herself that wasn’t true. But he wasn’t important to them. As soon as she’d shown herself they would have put a bullet in his head. Another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in a shallow grave. 

\--- 

"Why do people always think it's a good idea to sneak in on me while I'm asleep?" Natasha had been awake since the footsteps stopped outside her door. 

She'd let Steve settle into the chair next to her bed before she said anything. 

Steve smiled, head dropping down. "Maybe we think its the only way to disarm you." 

Natasha pushed a button on the remote attached to her bed and a small lamp came on. "What can I do you for, Cap?" 

Steve didn't look up from his lap, small smile still on his face. "I like to sit in hospital rooms. Listen to people breathe." 

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "I honestly don't know if you're being serious." 

Steve chuckled, "I'm serious." Suddenly his face was somber. "That was close, Natasha." 

"I know." 

"Too close." 

"I know." When he put his hand on the edge of her mattress she took it. "Believe me I know." 

"But we didn't." He squeezed her hand. "We didn't know this was coming." 

Natasha closed her eyes for a moment. _Not again._

She heard Bruce shift on the cot next to her bed and knew that he was awake. This was going to be fun. 

"I understand why we didn't know this was coming, it happened a long time ago. But," he sighed. "We're a team. There's gotta be some kind of communication going on about people that might try to kill one of us." Steve shook his head and looked at her. "But you were protecting Clint, right?" 

Natasha smiled, mostly to herself. "I'm always protecting Clint." 

"I noticed that. Even with the hard time you've been giving him." Steve paused for a moment. "I didn't understand before, but I think I do now." 

Steve's tone said it all. 

Before he could say anything else Bruce’s cot began to creak, seemingly shifting in his sleep. Saved from that particular clarification by the doctor. 

Now Steve was looking at Bruce, “The way you watch him, it’s like you’re trying to care for something precious.” 

”It is something precious,” she said without pause. 

\--- 

"You're not allowed to look at me like that," Natasha said to Bruce once Steve had left. He was sitting cross legged on his cot now. 

"I think that's yet to be determined," he sounded amused. "But, no, you're right." He paused for a moment. “I thought you were in love with Clint for a very long time,” he said finally, words sudden and laid bare. Natasha opened her mouth but Bruce continued quickly, “For the record, I don’t think that any more.” 

”Oh yeah, why’s that?” She asked wearily. 

Bruce shook his head. “It’s not important.” He smiled at her, a genuine, loving smile. “What’s important is that I know what lengths you’re willing to take to protect something you find precious.”


End file.
